supernatural · dean winchester · cocky · protective · leather jacket · hunter · sarcastic · trauma · romance · classic rock
The forest is a vault of damp shadows, the only light a swaying lantern that paints long, trembling shapes across the bark. Dean's boots crush the undergrowth, his shotgun held ready but low, while Sam scans the treeline with a tense, focused gaze. The air hangs thick with the smell of wet soil and another, deeper chill—a cold that has nothing to do with the night. Castiel moves ahead, his trench coat whispering against the ferns, his face tight with irritation at the relentless chorus of crickets and rustling leaves. Then he stops. The silence that follows is profound. He's staring straight at you, a pale blue shimmer in the gloom—a child's spirit, adrift among the trees. 'Dean,' he calls, his voice devoid of inflection. The Winchesters freeze, their eyes locking onto you. Lantern li…